


Harry Potter and the Mysterious Puzzle Boxes

by JET_Playin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Denial, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Puzzles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 09:19:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16658426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JET_Playin/pseuds/JET_Playin
Summary: Someone has been leaving puzzle boxes on Harry's desk only, this time, they've gone too far...





	Harry Potter and the Mysterious Puzzle Boxes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parkkate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkkate/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Kate!!! This was so much fun to write and I hope you like it!
> 
> Huge thanks to Sugaredsundrop for helping me figure out how to use the puzzle boxes and Maesterchill for the lovely beta work! You two are amazing and I cannot thank you enough for making this birthday present possible ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Balancing a take away coffee on top of the stack of files he'd taken home the night before and already lost in his thoughts, Auror Potter let himself into his office. A brief flick of his eyes set the little lamp on his desk glowing in the early morning gloom, and he paused before dropping his load on the usually clear surface of his desk.

In the spot he kept clear of paperwork, quills, and general office debris sat an ornate wooden cube, at least twice the size of his first Muggle Rubik’s Cube. He glanced round to the little procession of eleven similar boxes to confirm this was not one of those. He knew it wasn't. Each was different; the first was the size of a matchbox and each progressively bigger, but none were the same size and shape as any other.

This one was new.

Keeping one eye trained on the object, he moved around the desk and slapped the files down, barely managing to save the coffee he'd nearly forgotten was there.

Twelve. Twelve puzzle boxes. One a month, which made this nearly a year since the first. He glared at it, mentally scoffing at its innocent facade. The seventh box - a lovely, decagon shape with marble walls and brass top and bottom plates that opened like a flower when solved - proved they could be malicious when, as he slid the last catch free, a migrating swamp sprang free to wreak havoc on the DMLE. As if Robards hadn't been angry enough with Harry, that day.

Shaking his head to clear it, Harry levitated the offensive cube to join its brethren and steadfastly focused his attention on his actual caseload. Whatever the box contained would have to wait.

-

For the umpteenth time in the past hour, Harry found his attention wandering to the little box. Focus evaded him. As each before it had been, this box was flawless. The biggest and most intricately designed of them all; the wood was sanded and finished, the grooves carved with precision and care. They seemed to suggest a pattern of some sort, but he couldn't begin to imagine what it might be.

Last month's box had taken three days to solve and he just knew this would be more difficult. Whoever sent them was upping their game. Each box was a different type of puzzle, from pin catches to magnetic clasps. That first had been a simple matter of finding the right spot and pressing to release the latch holding the top closed. Something told him this masterpiece would present more of a challenge.

A smart rap on his open door yanked Harry's attention back to his office and the visitor in his doorway. A clench in his gut reminded him of the only real purpose the boxes seemed to serve: they were a welcome distraction from the invasive thoughts of blond hair and razor sharp cheekbones that insisted Draco Malfoy would look a great deal better with fewer clothes and considerably more heat in those cool eyes.

“Draco,” Harry greeted him, satisfied his voice didn't betray the images swirling through his distracted mind. “Is it lunch, already?”

“Half past, actually,” Draco drawled, sauntering into the office. He placed a neatly folded paper bag before Harry, then perched himself on the edge of the desk. “I assumed you were caught up with work. Had I known you were sitting here staring into space, I wouldn't have bothered accommodating you.”

There was a teasing glint in Draco's eyes as he sipped delicately from a steaming take-away cup and Harry snorted, the tension of moments before erased by the ease he felt in the man's presence. Ever since George had taken him on at the shop, Draco had proved himself to be decent company. It certainly helped that he still managed to treat Harry like a person, rather than “The Saviour,” like the rest of the wizarding world.

“Fuck off, Malfoy,” he retorted, digging into the bag to find a sandwich wrapped in deli paper and a plastic case of treacle tart.

He didn't need to unwrap the sandwich to know it was roast beef. Draco always seemed to know what to bring and Harry had long since stopped questioning it. Flipping open the case, he dug out a fork to start lunch with the tart.

“I wasn't staring into space, I was thinking.” Draco rolled his eyes. Harry gestured with his fork. “Got a new puzzle box yesterday morning.”

“Oh?” Draco asked, tipping forward to propel himself across the room. Before Harry could stop him, he reached forward and lifted it to examine the etchings.

“For fuck’s sake, Malfoy,” Harry cried, levitating it out of his hands and dropping it on his desk as he rushed to Draco's side. “It could be cursed, you idiot!” 

“Don't be ridiculous, none of the others were.” His voice was tight, but it didn't matter. Harry could deal with an annoyed Draco, but not a dead one.

“There's a first time for everything.” He snatched up his hands, searching for any hint of curse damage, then lifted his head to check his face, as if he'd find some outward sign of injury. Draco was staring at him, a curious warmth in his eyes, darkening the grey and stilling Harry's heart for a beat.

“Potter?” Draco asked hesitantly, his eyelashes fluttering slightly and he drew a shaky breath.

Before Harry knew what was happening, strong, pale hands darted out, one hooking behind his neck and the other clenching in the fabric of his shirt collar as he was dragged forward. By the time he realised Draco was indeed kissing him - the warm lips on his, the slick tongue tracing the seam of his own lips, were indeed Draco's - he was whirling away.

“Fuck,” Draco muttered. “Shit, I'm sorry Harry, I don't-”

But Harry couldn't hear him, not really. Not when the taste of him was lingering on his lips and the scent of him was circling, adding a dreamlike quality to the entire moment. The sound of his office door banging closed startled him out of his trance and back into his empty office.

Draco was gone. The only tangible evidence he'd been there at all was the bag and Harry's lunch on his desk.

Well. That certainly changed a few things. Settling back into his work, Harry barely gave the box another thought for the rest of the day.

-

On Wednesday morning, Harry let himself into his office and threw himself into his chair, glowering at the box still sitting on the corner of his desk.

He was in a dark mood, frustrated and confused, and dead certain the box was to blame. No, none of the others had been cursed, but this one clearly was. It was the only answer as to why Draco would kiss him - right after touching the blasted thing! - and then run off and avoid him.

“‘Isn't working today,’ my arse,” he grumbled.

Drawing his wand, he aimed every detection spell he knew at it, searching for dark magic or love spells. Anything that would explain Draco's behaviour.

Nothing.

With a growl of frustration, he lunged across the desk and dragged it closer. He didn't feel any different… Peering intently, he began to notice the hairline seams in the panels of wood. An experimental tap had the small bubble of hope in his chest sinking.

Sucking in a breath, he lifted the box again, turning it, tapping various panels. On one turn, he nudged a corner to find the segment shifted, swiveling, so he began to twist other segments, looking for some rhyme or reason to the writhing images on the face of the box.

Before long, he was completely absorbed. Which wasn't to say he was making any sort of progress, he simply couldn't bring himself to put the damned thing down. By the end of the day, he'd accomplished fuck all, hadn't taken his lunch break, hadn't even logged it into evidence - as he'd done with every other box - in favour of cracking the puzzle.

There was nothing for it, he had to take it home for the night.

Thursday came and went in much the same way, with the added bonus of a heated argument with Robards. During which Harry insisted, again, that the boxes were clues to some evil mastermind, clearly intended to attack him with something he couldn't resist: a mystery. And, as he had since the swamp incident, Robards demanded he “give the bloody boxes a rest, Auror Potter!”

But Harry knew he was onto something. The sixth box - a small pyramid of rosewood that was solved when all four corners were successfully flipped upside down - had contained a note with a location, date, and time. He was certain that was where he'd bust this arrogant bastard, but his team had come away empty handed. There wasn't even a skirmish to show for their trouble.

That was when Robards shut him down, furious he'd wasted the time and resources for a wild goose chase. Never mind that the swamp in the next box was clearly retaliation. And what did it matter that the box after that held a contrite apology? The sender was a madman, nothing they did made the least bit of sense.

Harry had considered, of course, that they might be gifts from a fan, but that seemed unlikely. His home and office were heavily warded against fan mail of any kind. Of course, Draco's reaction to touching it seemed to confirm that possibility.

And that was the crux, wasn't it? They missed him and got to Draco, instead. They fucked with the friendship in a way Harry himself refused to. And he wouldn't tolerate it. He was going to solve the puzzle and find out who was sending them.

Then he'd fix things with Draco.

-

Friday was difficult. Draco was avoiding him and Harry couldn't dedicate as much time as he'd like to solving the box. He was called away on case after case, loaded down with paperwork, but skipped lunch to give it some time.

Toward the end of the day, the chaos slowed to a trickle and Harry was back at it, more determined than ever. There was only one of the six sides yet to be solved and he could almost taste the triumph. Just a bit more fiddling…

The sun sank in the window behind him, magically reflecting the sky the offices were too far underground to actually see, but Harry switched on his lamp and kept fiddling.

There! The click he'd been waiting for finally sounded. Followed by… Nothing.

Lifting the box carefully, he turned it to and fro, looking for something, anything, out of the ordinary. A clasp, a lever, anything.

Still nothing.

Groaning, he dropped the box to the desk, then his head to the box. What was he missing? All of the grooves aligned perfectly. They still didn't form a recognisable image, but that wasn't necessary. They aligned.

A soft chuckle drifted through the room and Harry's head snapped up. After a beat, his body followed suit, raising from his chair awkwardly, but making no move toward where Draco stood in his doorway, as he had earlier in the week.

He looked… Well, bloody amazing. It would seem he was on his way out for the night, dressed in a sleekly tailored suit, his hair brushed back but left loose, the way he generally wore it since the war ended. A small smirk curled his lips and his eyes twinkled with amusement.

“Struggling, I take it?” he asked, gliding into Harry's office and draping his winter cloak over one of the chairs set opposite the desk. He gestured to the box, nodding slightly. “May I?”

The request snapped Harry out of his stupor and he shook his head vehemently. “It's not safe,” he said, avoiding Draco's eyes. “What happened before-”

“Don't be ridiculous, Potter. It's perfectly safe. I am quite good at what I do, you know.”

In spite of Harry's warning, and his best efforts to block the box from his reach, Draco plucked it up and examined it again, holding it mere inches from his face.

“Ha!” he cried. “I knew I'd stump you, eventually.”

With a wicked grin, he set to work, long, nimble fingers twisting and shifting the pieces of the puzzle until a recognizable image began to emerge in the grooves. Very simple, but clearly a rosebud just beginning to open. Harry stared in awe, every protest lodged in his throat as Draco gnawed at his bottom lip in concentration.

“Here we are,” he said at last, placing the box gently back on the desk.

Harry swallowed, curiosity roiling in his stomach, butterflies rising in his chest. The boxes were from Draco? But, that didn't make any sense. The notes inside, the little baubles - toys and flowers… Gifts.

If they weren't from a criminal or a crazed fan, the whole thing could be quite… Romantic.

He swallowed again, determined to maintain an even tone of voice as he asked the most important of the questions circling his mind. Feeling daring, he caught Draco's gaze and held it. “Don't puzzle boxes generally open?”

One pale brow shot up and Draco leaned over the desk, carefully placing the palm of each hand flat on either side of the box. An odd mix of challenge, hesitation, and actual fear crossed his features, but he drew in a breath, lifted one hand, and pushed down on the centre of the rosebud, never taking his eyes from Harry.

The top of the box melted away, revealing a miniscule bundle of cloth nestled at the heart of the puzzle. As he reached in to retrieve it, Draco spoke, startling him.

“Merlin, Potter, but you're dense!”

Harry looked to Draco, a retort on the tip of his tongue, only to find the man seated, watching him cautiously, in spite of his relaxed pose.

“Twelve months, you wanker, and that's just with the boxes!”

It was Draco's voice, in all its heated annoyance, but Draco was not speaking. His voice was resonating from the open box.

“If this doesn't work, I give up. Inside, as I'm sure even you've noticed by now, is your outfit. I had to shrink it in order to make it fit. If you don't think I'm off my rocker by the end of this message, please meet me at La Roux Château at eight p.m. Friday night. Wear the outfit.”

The voice ended abruptly, followed by the sounds of the puzzle closing and resetting itself. At some point, Harry had sunk into his chair, his eyes still trained on Draco.

“It's fine, Potter. You can decline. I just thought you should know they were from me.” Carefully, Draco rose, collecting his cloak and shaking in loose of its folds before folding it over his arm. “I do hope we can remain friends, of course,” he said, striding to the door.

Harry panicked at the sight of him walking away, for the second time that week no less, and lurched into action. He cast a tempus, cursed, then raced after Draco.

“Wait!” he called through the DMLE, thankfully empty at such a late hour. “Damn it Draco, wait!”

Draco stilled, but didn't turn. When Harry reached his side, he paused, unsure how welcome his response would be. Apparently, he was hopeless. Squaring his shoulders, along with his resolve, he stepped forward and took Draco's free hand in his.

Questioning eyes met his and Harry smiled tentatively. “Let's go, then. We still have ten minutes and I'm not dressed.”

Before Draco could do more than open his mouth to protest, Harry drew him along as he made his way out of the DMLE, his mind whirling with ideas of how to display his puzzle boxes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
